Change of Seasons
by Pericula Ludus
Summary: The dwarves mark the end of summer with a solemn celebration that consists of remembering the dead and bracing themselves for the dark months of winter that are to come. Fíli is facing some changes of his own. Won 1st place in the Feels for Fíli Campaign, Mini Contest #6 Halloween/Autumn


**Change of Seasons**

The dumb supper was annoying. Pretending to have dinner with the dead and honouring them by not speaking a word throughout the entire meal made very little sense to Fíli. But even more annoying was Kíli's inability to just be silent for once. It was tradition and traditions had to be respected. The sooner they were done with it the better. But Kíli was fidgeting and pulling faces. Fíli kicked his shin. Hard.

Of course the stupid git had to cry out. Both Mother and Uncle Thorin stared at them angrily, silently mouthing "Be quiet!", the promise of punishment in their eyes. Oh great, now Kíli had gotten them both into trouble.

Dís served everyone a portion of gammon, lentils and potatoes, while Thorin put a tankard of ale in front of each of them. Watered down for Fíli and Kíli of course. Apparently they were still too young to have a proper drink. Being treated like they were still in their thirties. It was not fair. Of course the empty seat got proper ale.

That seat was supposed to be for all the dead of their family. Tonight, as summer turned into winter, the veil between the worlds was lifted, the past and the present were able to touch and the deceased were closer to the living. Or something like that. Fíli thought it was all just a fancy fairy-tale. Not showing the necessary respect for his ancestors. Not appreciating their sacrifice. Not demonstrating sufficient regard for their traditions. He had been chastised enough times to make sure to keep his thoughts to himself.

Kíli stuck his tongue out at him when none of the adults were watching. Fíli just rolled his eyes. His brother was so childish. It was unbelievable. They were only five years apart, but to Fíli it felt like an age. He could not remember ever acting like this. Certainly not for many, many years.

Kíli was still a child. Not a trace of a beard on his cheeks. His voice was still that of a child as well, whereas Fíli's had changed. He still sounded nothing like Thorin, but there was no denying that he was a grown dwarf, even though his beard was still sparse. He pretended that he wanted to keep his beard short like Thorin's, but in all honesty, there was not much that he could have grown had he desired to do so.

Thorin was taking his time. Everybody else was done, but Thorin was still carefully dissecting his gammon and savouring each bite. Slowly. Oh so slowly. Fíli suspected his uncle was stalling deliberately, just to annoy them. Probably as punishment for the earlier disturbance of the silence.

Finally, Thorin rose and with a bow to the empty seat, picked up the untouched plate and carried it outside. Fíli knew he would place it somewhere in the woods. There were tales about all sorts of spirits and creatures that would be appeased by that plate of food. Fíli suspected it would mainly feed mice and birds. At least they were now free to talk again.

Predictably, his mother's first words were, "No, Kíli!"

"Ahhh, just one…," Kíli whined.

"No, the shortbread is for the guisers," was their mother's stern reply, "you can have some if there is any left over."

Small chance of that. It was not like anybody would leave out their house. Every child in the Ered Luin, and probably in most of the Northern part of Middle-Earth had to stop here.

"Oh, I want to go guising!," Kíli said, turning to his brother, "please, Fíli, can we go?"

"Do what you want, but I'm not coming," said Fíli firmly. They had been over this again and again.

"Come on, just a few houses!"

"Guising is for children."

"You are no fun," Kíli moaned dramatically, "if I starve to death, it will all be your fault! No sweets, no fun, no nothing!"

Fíli would not mind the sweets either. Guising was fun, disguising themselves and going from door to door, singing a little song and receiving sweets in return, or else pranking those who did not give them anything. Fíli had decided weeks ago that he was too old to participate. Now his resolve wavered. It would be fun. And they would get some of Runa's magnificent fudge.

"You can help me hand out the shortbread," Dís suggested.

"That's boring," Kíli complained, and for once Fíli agreed with his brother, "Can't we do something fun?"

They ended up climbing the hill and sitting next to the crackling bonfire. It was one of many. All around them they could see the fires on the hilltops. This night, even though it was unseasonably warm, marked the beginning of the dark half of the year. The sun set early and rose late. The harvest had been brought in and the animals had returned from their summer grazing. What they had now would have to last them through the winter until the light and warmth returned. It was a night associated with change and a bit of fear of the unknown. The large fires were a last hurrah for the light, giving hope for the period of darkness that was to come. Seeing them all around their settlement was stunning. Fíli had known they were there, of course, he had seen a few from down below, but he had never seen them like this. There were so many. So many fires on so many hills. So many dwarves determined to stick together throughout the winter. So many people that were supposed to be his people. His people. It was a strange thought.

"I wish we could see them, you know," said Kíli.

"See who?," asked Fíli.

"The dead! Wouldn't that be cool?"

Fíli just made a noncommittal grunt. Oh how he wished he could see them!

"You know, it would be funny," continued Kíli, "that chair would be so crowded, with Thrór and Thráin and grandmother and Uncle Frerin all piled on top of each other!"

He chuckled.

"And father," added Fíli, "you forgot father."

"Of course, father as well," Kíli confirmed quickly, "It would be funny though. I think I'd just burst out laughing!"

Fíli knew that he would not laugh. He picked up a chestnut and threw it at Kíli's face. Despite the dim light, he managed to catch it before it hit him and threw it back at Fíli who did not have such fast reflexes.

"How could you forget father?," Fíli asked accusingly.

Kíli shrugged his shoulders, but had the good grace to look somewhat ashamed.

"I don't know," he said, "We just don't talk about him very often, do we?"

Fíli contemplated that for a while.

"I don't think Uncle Thorin liked him very much," he said at last, "I think that's why we don't talk about him much."

"What was he like?," Kíli asked, flopping down on a pile of dry leaves.

"He was a good dwarf," Fíli repeated what their mother always said, "he was an accomplished woodworker and he loved us very much."

"Yeah, I know that," said Kíli, "but what was he really like? You know, as a person."

Of course, Kíli had been too young when their father died. But Fíli should know. He was older and he had actually properly lived with their father, talked to him and done stuff with him.

"He was…," he started hesitantly, but he had nothing to say, "he laughed a lot. And he made us toys…"

Why had he not paid proper attention? He had nothing to say about his own father! Only vague memories of living in another house in a time when mother was still happy and liked to share a laugh with her husband. The dwarf that had now become nothing but a fuzzy idea, a warm feeling somewhere in the distant past.

"Ah, he must have been good," said Kíli.

"Why is that?"

"Well, everybody always says that you are just like him. Or… hmm, maybe he was mad as a bat and that's what they are referring to!"

Kíli said it lightly, but Fíli frowned. Kíli noticed and propped himself up on an elbow, looking inquiringly at his brother.

"You don't really believe that, do you?"

"I don't know," Fíli shrugged, "I have no idea what he was like. So I have no idea what I'm like."

"It might just be the hair, you know. Mum says you have his hair."

"Aye, but mum also says you have his eyes and nobody says that you are like him!"

"Because I'm my own unique person and nobody could compare to me," Kíli declared grandly.

"Oaf," was Fíli's only reply.

"Stone-brain," Kíli shot back.

Fíli jumped on him and they wrestled for a while. Eventually, Fíli managed to pin his brother to the ground and pushed his nose deep into the pile of leaves. He might no longer be taller than his brother, but he was still the stronger of the two. They laughed as Kíli spat out a mouthful of leaves and dirt. Both breathing heavily, they lay next to the bonfire, staring up into the starry night.

"What do you want to do when you grow up?," Fíli asked after a while.

"Ugh," groaned Kíli, "I don't want to grow up. All grown-ups do is work all day. I want to run around and hunt and stuff." He stopped, thinking. "I guess I could do that. I could be a hunter!"

"That's not a job," said Fíli, "you need to learn a proper craft!"

"Ugh, but I don't want to. I hate the forge! It's hot and grimy and ugh," Kíli complained.

"You need to do something," Fíli insisted, "you need to decide where to do your apprenticeship soon."

"It's so easy for you," Kíli said, "You just do everything that Thorin does and then you'll be the leader and everybody has to do what you say. You're lucky!"

Fíli was not so sure about that.

"Nah," he said, "I mean who wants to be like Thorin?"

"True," Kíli admitted, "he's way too grumpy. You can't be like him! Bah, I would hate that!"

Fíli snickered, "I could be the one lecturing you all day!"

"'Respect the sacrifices your ancestors have made! Follow our traditions! Behave yourselves, the people want to see princes, not senseless donkeys!'," Kíli said in a remarkably accurate imitation of Thorin and they both laughed.

Then Fíli grew serious again.

"I don't want to be like Thorin," he said, "all bitter and stern. But I don't think I have much of a choice. He wants me as his heir, so that's what I've got to be."

"You don't have to be like him," Kíli said reasonably, "you could be different. You could be like Balin, all smart and wise and bookish…"

"… and dreadfully boring," Fíli added.

"There is that," Kíli allowed, "but you're certainly smart enough!"

"What does that make you," Fíli asked, "Dwalin?"

"Oi, watch it," shouted Kíli, firing another chestnut at him, "I'm not that daft!"

Fíli shoved him playfully, but then he said more seriously, "I wonder if he really is that daft."

"His job is to stand behind Thorin and look threatening. Doesn't exactly take a genius."

"Thorin likes him."

"Yeah, Thorin would probably like a dog just as much."

They both laughed at that.

"He couldn't go for a drink with a dog though!"

"He'd just have to find a dog that's big and mean enough. I'm sure a big bulldog could drink him under the table."

"Just like Dwalin then."

"Thorin's bulldog," Fíli said. Kíli made barking noises and they laughed until their sides hurt.

"So we don't want to be like Thorin, Balin, or Dwalin," Fíli resumed their earlier conversation, "so who does that leave us with?"

"Mum's pretty good."

"She's a dwarrowdam, though. That's different," Fíli said. He was just starting to discover just how different dwarrowdams really were. But there was now point in trying to discuss that with Kíli.

"I wish dad was still alive," he sighed.

"Ach, but we've got Thorin," Kíli tried to cheer him up, "he's not all that bad!"

"But a father… a father would be different."

Fíli could not really explain it. He just felt like his father would be able to help him sort through all of this confusing stuff about growing up. He could not really talk to Kíli about that. Kíli was still a child. And mum was a dwarrowdam. And Thorin, Thorin was just… Thorin. You did not really talk to Thorin about these things. His father would understand. Fíli knew he would.

"It's getting cold," Kíli interrupted his thoughts, "let's go home."

It was getting somewhat chilly, the large bonfire now burning lower. They were facing winter now. The happy, carefree days of summer were over. Change was coming, whether they wanted it or not. Things were about to get difficult.

_The traditions described here are based on the Gaelic Samhuinn (SAH-vin) an ancient seasonal festival on the 31st of October (Samhuinn translates as November Eve) that still sees many fiery celebrations today (look up Edinburgh Samhuinn for some impressive pictures). Remembrance of the dead was a part of it long before All Saints Day was ever scheduled for the 1st of November, and guising occurred long before trick-or-treating became a "thing". _


End file.
